That old swimming through jello feeling just got to the chartreuse part
Last night, we fled out of the door to find some privacy and go have a bite to eat at Meaux Bar – just the two of us and baggage that weighed about 80 tons. What to do, where to go, no where to hide from what is front of us. It’s kind of like that Eli’s Coming feeling except it sort of never ends. The family is here for one more week and the reality that this might be T’s mother’s last trip hangs in the balance. My mom continues to struggle against the pricks in the hospital and can’t come to any peace with where she is. The adoption process feels almost like the Pompidou Center where the inner mechanics have become so revealed you are either repulsed or amazed – meanwhile, I feel like I’m on the basketball court and someone keeps throwing me the ball but I don’t want it – so I toss it back only no one is there to catch it and the ref keeps yelling FOUL.
Not sure what to make of all of this but I think about what someone told me this week – don’t mistake not getting worse with getting better.